Sunday, August 16, 2009


We met on the Q train around 2 a.m.

She was beyond beautiful, 
my kind of beautiful…
could've been Bianca Jagger's sister.

I got the feeling
the reason she sidled up next to me 
was solely for protective, 
not romantic, purposes.

We started a discussion about 
old black and white movies.

She said she would've walked Gregory Peck's dog through a minefield.

I told her I would've had Rita Hayworth's baby. 
In fact, my first born child 
will be named Rita, 
even if it's a boy. 

I could tell she admired my dedication.

Next we discussed deal makers and deal breakers
for potential dates/mates.

I pointed to a Budweiser advertisement 
with some ripped blonde surfer-type and asked,
"What about him?"

She said, "It's hard to tell because I can turn off the sexy."

"Turn off the sexy?"

"Yeah, I can just ignore the six-pack abs, 
the Hollywood smile, the chiseled jaw line 
and that mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

I can nullify the physical 
so my attraction to him would 
be based purely on his actions, emotions,
and thoughts."

I told her I admired her stance 
in regard to transcending the physical.

It seemed like a noble and realistic approach. 

She wrote down her phone number
on my palm with an eyeliner pencil -

then she steamrolled through 
a twenty minute diatribe 
about some scientist in Germany
who had grafted Walt Disney's frozen head
onto Eva Braun's body and
the result was 
a new ambisextrous UberGod
who would judge 
the living and the dead
and its kingdom would have no end.

I decided to get off a few stops early. 

I woke up the next afternoon 
with a slightly smeared, 
yet legible,
phone number on my palm.

She answered after the third ring.

"I'm surprised to hear from you! 

Especially after you 
called me a 'friggin' deranged crackpot
before you got off the train." 

"Yeah, well I guess 
I just can't 
turn off 
the sexy 
like you can." 

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